


Trust

by scifiromance



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Apologies, Character Development, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s06e09 The Voyager Conspiracy, Forgiveness, Friendship, Gen, Recovery, Trauma, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:28:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13766097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifiromance/pseuds/scifiromance
Summary: After a massive backstep- a well-meaning but nearly catastrophic error- Seven of Nine seeks forgiveness from those most deeply affected. Or is that her?One-shot. Post 'The Voyager Conspiracy', S06xE09.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, TheLadyMage, for all her help! Hop over to fanfiction.net and check out her work. 
> 
> I do not own Star Trek: Voyager.

She felt the feather light pressure of fingertips, neither warm nor cool, on the side of her face first. Then she heard the steady beep of a tricorder, almost drowned out by enthusiastic tenor humming in concert with a soaring soprano. Her eyes fluttered open, her own sharp intake of breath dominant in her senses for a split second.

The Doctor’s other hand moved to squeeze her shoulder, his eyes warm as he looked down at her. “Good morning.” He said softly with a kind smile, “Is the world the right way up again?” The corners of his eyes creased in concern as she grimaced, the lightness leaving his voice. “Your mind is your own again? No irrational or paranoid thoughts? No inexplicable situations…”

“None.” Seven whispered, her throat painfully dry as she did a quick assessment. “I am functioning within normal parameters…” Her gaze flicked worriedly, then locked on his. “…as far as I am aware.”

“Don’t worry, you are.” He reassured her quickly, tapping the tricorder’s screen. “Brain activity is normal, and your cortical processor is now stable. Working more efficiently than it was after my thankfully very effective purging of data, even if I do say so myself.” The hand still by her face carefully swept a few wayward strands of hair behind her ear, perfecting the image of her before him with a relieved smile. Seven couldn’t quite suppress her flinch, turning her face away.

“Thank you.” She forced out, “I appreciate your efforts to repair me.”

The Doctor’s answer was a gentle scoff. “As if I would ever do otherwise.” He sighed as she tensed guiltily, “You’ll be glad to hear, now, that our use of the catapult has been an unqualified success.”

Seven felt her cheeks burn, even as the weight on her chest intensified. She wasn’t ready to interpret whether it was relief, or whether paralysing fear still had a hold over her. “How far?” she croaked out.

“The Captain said something about three years when she and Commander Chakotay came in to hear my report on your surgery.”

Seven blanched, unsure how to take the news that the Captain and the Commander had attended her together. “That is…welcome news.”

“It is.” The Doctor agreed, “Although the two of them were just as glad to hear that you’re going to be fine, that this was just a blip, a malfunction. They were united in that.” Seven winced, the opposite of comforted, but he determinedly pushed on with his point, “Not so much earlier, but it seems like that’s all been smoothed out to focus on the real priority, you. Whatever they may have thought in the heat of the moment, it’s blown over, and I don’t think the crew heard a breath of it, beyond B’Elanna down in Engineering…”

“B’Elanna?” Seven echoed, lurching upright. “The Commander told B’Elanna what I…”

The Doctor shifted uncomfortably. “It’s hardly surprising, B’Elanna has always been his right hand in the Maquis from what I gathered, but it didn’t go any further.” He took a breath as he absorbed her stricken expression, “There was no harm done in the end Seven, and any momentary strife wasn’t your doing, _you_ were ill. Look on the bright side, this proves you have influence now, the standing on board you deserve, that your words have weight with…”

“My _false_ words!” Seven cut him off angrily, “I was being irrational and I endangered…”

“I know, I saw the state you were in.” The Doctor winced at the memory, “But I’m only saying that the crew trusted you to advise them, and you trusted the Captain enough to come home, both of those facts are big steps forward, whatever the situation may have been.”

“It was infinitely regrettable.” Seven ground out, head bowed.

“Of course.” The Doctor conceded readily, “But it won’t happen again.” His face shifted from reassuring to mildly chiding, “Nor will anything like it if you _always_ advise me of any modifications to your alcove you have in mind before you proceed with them. The balance between your now dominant human systems and the remaining cybernetic ones is far too delicate to just tinker with…”

“I realise that now Doctor.” Seven cut him off quietly. Of course, she’d realised far too late, had destabilised Voyager and had been minutes away from destroying herself in her fervour… “If I had known…”

“That’s the benefit of hindsight.” The Doctor reminded her, “Which I’m sure the Captain and the Commander are also feeling. They should have alerted me as soon as…”

Then you trust my competency less than they do, Seven mentally concluded, if you believe I should be checked for malfunctions at every turn. Although in this case, his point was a correct one. “I’m sure they will in future.” She agreed thickly.

The Doctor fixed her with a knowing look. “I only meant they should’ve taken care of you rather than indulge in squabbles.” He sighed, “But it doesn’t matter now, you’re better and our command team have learned a lesson in good governance.” He tutted to himself.

“Doctor, please…” Seven broke in, hating the plea in her voice. “This was entirely my fault.”

He patted her shoulder, “I can assure you that an overloaded cortical processor excuses you of any and all ‘blame’. This was no more in your control than being infected by the Vinculum was.”

Seven gave up arguing, her shame building rather than diminishing in the face of the Doctor’s stubborn defence. “Then when can I return to duty?”

“This time tomorrow, if you go to the Cargo Bay and complete a twenty-four-hour cycle in your alcove first.”

Dread settled in her stomach, a dam on the relief that tried to flood her. “I will do so.”

The Doctor beamed, relieved she’d agreed without a fight. “I’ll see you for a final check afterwards, then I’ll be happy to mark you as fit for duty.” Seven slid hastily off the biobed without looking at him and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’d never seen her so apparently eager to regenerate. “Anything else can wait Seven.” He warned, “Rest.”

Seven stiffened. “I can assure you Doctor, I would not risk a relapse!” she snapped tersely.

The Doctor was immediately contrite. “There’s no risk of that Seven.” He told her with certainty, “I just want you back in peak condition.”

Seven took a deep breath. “Of course.” She murmured, dipping her head before she turned towards the door. “I will return tomorrow as advised.”

* * *

 

Kathryn’s gaze was intent on her PADD, but since she knew her Ready Room better than the back of her hand, she could keep up her fluid pacing without the threat of mishap. Her brow was thoughtfully furrowed while her lips held onto an optimistic, curious, upward curve; the combined expression illustrated perfectly the conflict in her mind as she read. She wasn’t even a quarter of the way through the data on this new sector, its possible opportunities and threats, and then there was the experience of going through the catapult to properly dissect. Suddenly, she understood Seven’s desire to comprehend everything as quickly and wholly as possible…

The thought of her protégé’s almost catastrophic malfunction pulled her up. She should’ve heard the cries for help before the whispers of doubt. That Seven’s Borg components had once again turned on her was more believable than Maquis plotting… She shivered, one arm curling around her waist as the PADD dropped to her side. Her eyes swept over the collection of mementos, or ‘dust collectors’ as her Aunt Louise would’ve dismissively called them, but drawing on recollections of lighter, often ludicrous incidents brought her little comfort right then. A soft sigh left her throat as instead her gaze locked on the stars outside her window. Distorted by warp, indistinguishable by the human eye from those 30 sectors back, or even those in the Alpha Quadrant, but were in reality stepping stones. If only there was a network of catapults to hop on. 30 sectors in less than an hour, three years trimmed off their journey! They were already powering forward, it would soon be long behind them. Barely a footnote in comparison to the achievement of the catapult. Not even that if Chakotay kept his word and left it out of his log, as she intended to. A little wakeup call maybe, but nothing worth brooding on when put in perspective. And there was nothing like a long journey for perspective…

The beep of the doorbell tore her attention from the soothing view. She spun on her heel, presenting a picture of composed welcome. “Come in.”

The doors swished smoothly open, Seven of Nine’s step inside was more hesitant. She remained at the threshold, the closing doors almost brushing the hands clenched behind her back. Kathryn’s relieved smile faltered for an instant. Seven tended to admit herself without pausing to ring the doorbell, and would march up to her with purpose. Not so today. She looked…smaller hovering there. “Seven!” she exclaimed warmly, making up for the distance by crossing it herself, arms open. “I’m glad to see you up and around!”

Seven’s head dipped into a nod around hunched shoulders. “As am I to be so.” She murmured, edging towards her.

Kathryn touched her arm solicitously. She had a feeling coaxing the younger woman home once again would stay with her for longer than any of the rest of the day’s fraught events. “How are you feeling?”

Seven’s chin started to jut out, her stubborn refusal to accept weakness asserting itself for a split second, before it lowered with her eyes, shame winning out. “The Doctor has repaired me.”

“So he assured me. And he also said you should be regenerating for the next twenty-four hours.”

Seven’s lips tightened, her tongue running briefly over them. The cortical processing sub-unit may have been disconnected, but that didn’t mean regenerating appealed. However, she was not here to protest the Doctor’s orders, though he would undoubtedly argue she was delaying them. He should understand. It was after all, a human impulse she was following. “I intend to.” She said honestly, “But first, I must apologise to you, Captain.”

“I appreciate that.” Kathryn told her honestly, with a gentle smile and another squeeze of her arm. “But it isn’t necessary. You were malfunctioning, trying to process things the human brain wasn’t designed to.” Seven flinched, spots of colour appearing on her drawn face that drew a sigh from Kathryn’s lips as she met her eyes. “You weren’t in control of your actions, and in the end, there was no harm done.”

“No harm?” Seven echoed with sharp incredulity, “I offended Tash, meaning we almost lost access to the catapult, I intended to _destroy_ said catapult, robbing Voyager of its benefits. I sowed discord between yourself and Commander Chakotay…”

Kathryn cut her off with a gesture, then spread her hands wide, indicating the stars out the window. “We still managed to reap those benefits, despite your _almosts_ Seven, and we’ve had a hell of a lot of those anyway without your direct involvement.”

“Yes.” Seven agreed, unable to dispute that though she still felt protest rising. “But...”

“As for myself and Commander Chakotay, we’re fine.” Kathryn continued, “I think this…taught us both a lesson, but we’ve been through worse than a little confusion.” She thought she saw surprise and doubt flash across Seven’s face, but she hid it too quickly for her to be sure. It was better that way, since she realised only Seven was privy to the reactions of both her and Chakotay. She smiled wryly, “Contrary to rumour, we didn’t exactly come to blows.”

“Of course not.” Seven replied quietly, not playing along as Chakotay had at dinner. “Still, I am sorry Captain that my mistake, my _delusions_ , affected Voyager. It will not happen again.”

“No, it won’t.” Kathryn assured her, “ _I’m_ sorry Seven, that I didn’t realise that something was amiss until you were…terrified.”

Seven stiffened, but didn’t argue with that assessment. “You should be able to trust that I am not suffering from paranoid delusions.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Kathryn pressed once more, regarding her piercingly. “Trust me on that, okay?”

Seven swallowed hard, but forced herself to meet her gaze. “Yes, Captain.”

Kathryn smiled at her kindly. ”Then everything’s fine. It’s over and done. Look forward Seven, there’s so little point in thinking back.” She sighed, “We’ll just have to make sure to check over any changes you want to make that could affect your implants from now on, that’s all.” Another thing to oversee, another part of her life Seven couldn’t control. But then she should be getting weaned off a dependence on Borg technology, not encouraged to plug herself up to random ‘enhancements’.

“I understand Captain.” Seven murmured, stepping back. “Thank you for seeing me.” She strode out with her usual decisiveness and Kathryn smiled in relief.

* * *

 

B’Elanna fought to rein in her impatience as she tapped carefully at the console. Warp engines could be finnicky, demanding more of a loving caress than a smack into gear. Although the engine tuners of Utopia Planetia hadn’t foreseen their ship being catapulted across space at speeds beyond warp. Given what she’d had to endure over the years, Voyager was holding up well. But it took a level of work at times that would’ve left Kahless sweating…

“I’ll go and monitor the plasma flow.” Carey began, pre-empting her request, “See what I can do to…” He stopped, a slight grimace passing over his face before it shifted to a smirk as he caught her eye.

“What?” She demanded, her face falling as she spotted who had just entered Engineering. Ugh, what now? The last thing she needed when she was trying to steady the ship was its resident perfectionist. She schooled her expression and came out from behind the console as Carey walked off with a soft chuckle.

Seven wasn’t fooled, pausing mid stride as she caught B’Elanna’s reaction. She almost turned on her heel and marched back out. After all, perhaps it was Chakotay who owed the half-Klingon an apology, since she hadn’t involved her… No. This had started with her and she would end it is on as a salvageable note as possible.

B’Elanna held her ground, unmoved as the ex-drone strode up. As she came to an abrupt stop though, her fists were clenched at her sides, white knuckled under the veins of silvery circuitry. Her jaw unlocked to speak, but B’Elanna cut in. “You’re really my least favourite person to see today, Seven…”

Seven blinked, her lips thinning. “…I’m your least favourite person to see every day, Lieutenant.”

B’Elanna gave a dry chuckle. “And yet you’re still here. What can I do for you, Seven?” She half turned back towards the console, even as she raised a brow at the other woman.

Seven swallowed. Suddenly she could fully comprehend a phrase she’d heard, ‘wanting the ground to swallow you up’. “I…I came to apologise for…”

B’Elanna whirled back to her. “Oh no you don’t! You don’t get to apologise for something like that, Seven!” Seeing the look of stunned bemusement on her face, she gave a soft sigh and gestured back to the console for an example. “Do I ask this console to apologise to me when it shorts out? No. It has a temporary malfunction that it can’t help, and the only thing it can do is short out so that I know something is wrong with it.”

Seven scowled, the expression deepening with every word as offence sunk in. “I am _not_ a…”

B’Elanna waved her off, prepared for that reaction. “No, you’re not a console, Seven, but you are a quarter technology. There are bound to be malfunctions that are out of your control.”

“Yes.” Seven conceded thickly, bristling in response to that unpleasant truth. She regarded B’Elanna almost desperately, “But this…”

“No, this is your one get out of jail free card. I’m not mad. I’m not. But this is your only one.”

Seven felt cast adrift, iced over and floating. “I…” She knew that she had seriously transgressed, but B’Elanna obviously thought worse if she thought if she believed she should be locked in the brig for her malfunction. “You think I should be in the Brig for…?”

The engineer’s nose scrunched, her expression momentarily confused before she caught on. “What? Kahless, Seven, it’s a turn of phrase. It means you got out of trouble this once. It’s from an old board ga…” Cutting herself off with a shake of her head, B’Elanna briefly grasped Seven’s shoulders. Looking straight into the ex-drone’s eyes, her own were frank and sincere. “You didn’t do it on purpose. Anymore than Ashmore and Jackson purposefully got gastroenteritis last week, I didn’t need apologies from them even though I had to push the rota back.” She saw that Seven was flailing, still struggling with her point. With guilt. The empathy that had flickered at first, fuelling her words, took hold. “I’m sure you’re not planning on doing whatever again…” Seven shook her head with vigour, eyes almost squeezed shut. “So, we’re going to pretend that yesterday never happened, okay?” They’d be doing Chakotay and the Captain a big favour if they did. “We went from Friday to Sunday. It’s Borg leap year, okay?”

Seven’s brow furrowed. She gulped. “…okay.” She started to back away, though she didn’t turn to leave. Big eyes still fixed on B’Elanna, as if she still expected to be called back and be torn into.

Part of B’Elanna was amused, but pity won out. “We’re aren’t doing the apology tour, Seven. Go on.”

Seven grimaced slightly at the term, but it didn’t diminish the obvious gratitude in her swift nod as she turned and left.

* * *

 

Chakotay stretched listlessly in his chair as he yawned, one hand rubbing at his eyes as the other set down the unread PADD and tapped an irritable rhythm on his desk. He gave a heavy sigh. “Computer, dim lights another 10%.” Immediately, the burn behind his lids eased, but inevitably his gaze was drawn in the near darkness to the glinting impressions of stars flashing by his window. His office was small, he’d bet on it having been an afterthought, and occasionally wondered if Cavit would’ve settled for it as long as he had, but it did have a decently wide viewport. It was what drew the eye in the spartan room. He could’ve livened it up further, but anything personal he held back in his quarters, so he’d settled for a calming landscape on each wall. It could’ve been a waiting room. Or what it essentially was, the office of the classic middle manager.

The couch called to him half-heartedly, but even the thought of it started a crick in his neck. He’d spent enough stolen naps on the thing to know. Remembering the staring contest with his bedroom ceiling the night before, the idea of really trying to sleep repelled him, and knocked his tension headache up another notch. Hours of trying to mend his frayed nerves and suppress his temper were getting to him. All the worse because there was only one course of action, live with it until it passed. As with everything in his life, he had no choice but to move on, keep going with Voyager, coax and batter its journey into something resembling smoothness. Thank God, he’d only told B’Elanna and hadn’t summoned all of the Maquis, it would’ve taken him all his powers of persuasion to talk them down, and many would remain suspicious. Though reasoning with them would’ve reinforced his own commitment. Everything out in the open to clear the air. Or poison it.

He bit back another sigh as his doorbell rang. “Enter.” Without a conscious decision, he found himself scrambling to his feet as Seven walked in, gaining a height advantage on her. His desk served as a barricade between them. Guilt flashed through him as he caught her flinch, the body language a clear signal even to her. His regret intensified when he met her eyes, grey and pensive in the dim light. She was visibly deflated, lacking even her usual imposing confidence, entirely unthreatening. He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Good morning Seven.” She gave a mute nod, and he suddenly suspected she was biting on the inside of her mouth. He deliberately sat back down. “If you’re looking for shifts, I’m afraid I can’t assign you until the Doctor has signed off…” He began, genuinely apologetic. She’d want to put this behind her too. That and they could do with an Astrometrics report on what now lay ahead.

“I know, do not concern yourself Commander.” Seven answered softly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. At least she hadn’t needed to walk through the fully-manned Bridge or a bustling Engineering to get here, visiting the Commander was a more discreet affair. Why she’d made this then, the final stop in her ‘apology tour’, she couldn’t be sure. She owed more to the Captain, couldn’t risk making her relations with Lieutenant Torres even more acrimonious, the Commander should’ve been the easiest to deal with. And yet, she’d delayed facing him. Perhaps precisely because their relationship was the most professional, she felt the shame in her actions even more strongly. “I’ve been advised to regenerate for a further twenty-four hours before returning to duty.”

Chakotay mirrored her slight grimace. Not exactly R&R after a Borg technology induced breakdown, to be ordered back to her alcove like a dog to a kennel. “Anything’s better than another day and night in Sickbay with the Doc though, right?” he said kindly.

Her pale face reflected his wryness for a second, he caught the roll of her eyes. “Indeed.” She conceded.

“Which opera did he treat you to?”

Seven was surprised by his friendly lightness, enough that she struggled to recall which piece of music the Doctor had been regaling himself with as she woke. “ _Un bel d_ _ì vedremo_ …” She murmured, then with more authority, “From Puccini’s Madama Butterfly.”

Chakotay’s answer was an incredulous wince. He was far from an opera impresario, but he was remembered that plot involved a betrayed foreigner killing herself. The Doctor’s tactlessness never failed to surprise him, but… “Not exactly designed to cheer you up.” He finally muttered dryly.

At least it wasn’t ‘My Darling Clementine’… Seven shivered at the thought. “Perhaps he intended to offer perspective.” She answered stiffly, “I believe that is one of the purposes of tragic art. Or it could simply be that he was at that point in Puccini’s repertoire, and did not consider context.” She had to hope so, since neither the opera’s overarching themes, or that particular aria’s lyrics of hopeful unrequited love, reflected particularly well on the Doctor’s perspective on her. Chakotay’s mouth opened and closed as he obviously groped for a suitable reply, but she shouldn’t allow this conversation to diverge further from her purpose. “I came here to offer you my apology, Commander.”

Chakotay blinked, not for the first time caught off guard by her ability to change subject on a dime, but then he’d known something was up as soon as she’d come in, hadn’t he? Sympathy had chipped away at his wariness… His answer was an efficient nod worthy of her. He wasn’t about to pretend that an apology from someone in this mess wasn’t appreciated, or on the flipside, that it really made much difference. She’d only been the catalyst. “Thank you.” He said honestly. She was braced for attack, leaning back, ready to flee, and that only made him hyperaware of the defensive tension in his own body as he gripped his chair. He sighed. “But it wasn’t your fault. You weren’t in control of…”

Seven’s flight or fight complex was triggered rather than dialled down. After the initial flush of relief, the exhaled breath, her eyes, vibrantly blue again as she came at him in one swift stride, flashed with frustration. Even resentment. “I have not been in control of much of my life, Commander.” Her eyes narrowed bitterly, “Not in the conventional sense anyway. But that cannot excuse everything, and it doesn’t. I am responsible.”

Chakotay blew out from his teeth as he looked up at her. Déjà vu overcame him, and from the demand in her gaze, she remembered too. Astrometrics, her duty to those three people she’d had to make another choice for… Responsibility. A complex conversation to have with a former Borg drone. She didn’t have any, a six-year-old snatched away, and yet they had to force her to take it on to be human again. Guilt was part of the package they’d offered her, and she’d taken that on easier than anything else. “I’m not saying you don’t have a right to _feel_ responsible Seven.” He told her shortly, “I’m just also making the point that the Captain and I have to bear it for a lot of this too. Unlike you, we weren’t malfunctioning, and as…forceful as you can be…” Seven looked away from him then, “…you didn’t force us to jump to your conclusions.”

“No.” Seven forced out shakily, “But I did provide you with those erroneous conclusions. None of it would have occurred to you without my intervention.”

She had no idea what had _occurred_ to him over the years. Even in recent months. Okay, he hadn’t acted on much of it, but he and Kathryn weren’t exactly saints being tempted by the Borg devil. “You didn’t set out to break the crew apart though, did you Seven? The conspiracies you spun were not part of a wider paranoid plot to escape?”

Seven shook her head vigorously, her palms spreading unconsciously over his desk as she swallowed down the hurt. It was a logical supposition for him to make. “No. Each theory occurred to me independently, cancelling out the previous one. Every time my mind made a leap to process the overwhelming information, my previous solution was dismissed. I believed everything I told you…”

“I know.” Chakotay interrupted gently, wordlessly encouraging her to sit. He was surprised, though she was shaking, when she did.

She continued, gaze turned inward. “…it was the only scenario that made sense. Then, when I spoke to the Captain, I believed what I told her also. Finally, I was convinced that delivering me to Starfleet was Voyager’s only goal…” She stopped herself, hating this flash of ego in her paranoia.

“Your thoughts were snakes eating their own tails.” Chakotay concluded, “I’m sorry Seven, it must’ve been so frightening.” A chill of fear, stronger than empathy, ran over him. Voices whispering, then yelling. He’d tried to reason with them, resist them, plead with them, and it had only gotten worse. Until his crazy gene had been flipped back to ‘off’ that is. For Seven, it had taken a combination of delicate brain surgery and rebooting a virus ridden computer. With a shudder, he decided not to read the detail in the Doctor’s reports ever again.

His metaphor was colourful, but fitting. She had to nod. “It was…chaotic.” She whispered painfully, “I can only apologise for bringing that chaos to Voyager.”

“We’ve all done that, Seven.” He reminded her with a sigh, “Really, it’s just…unfortunate that it was you who raised this with the Captain and I. You’re probably the only person on board we’d take seriously over Starfleet and Maquis divisions, just because you’re so above…” He corrected himself as Seven’s gaze flickered uneasily, “…detached from all that. If it had been any of my crew, I would’ve questioned their motives more, and Kathryn would’ve done the same if it had been a Starfleet crewmember with those suspicions…” He’d hope so anyway. “But you value unity more than anyone, and what would you have had to gain from…” He trailed off to stop himself digging an even deeper hole.

Seven had already blanched violently however. His words twisted the knife she was already plunging into her heart. Traitorous tears pricked at her eyes. “Your trust in me…it proved misleading…dangerous…” She choked, “I’m sorry, I…” She started to stand.

Chakotay seized her arm, “That’s not what I meant Seven.” Her glistening eyes met his and he loosened his grip, but didn’t quite release her. “You’ve _earned_ our trust, and you haven’t lost it.” He regarded her frankly as she started to shake her head in doubt, “I don’t say that to you lightly Seven, you know how I felt at first.”

“Yes.” She confirmed with a curt nod, slumping back into the chair. Some calm returned to her face, the past was a fact. “You were wise not to trust me.” She stated, “I certainly did not trust this crew.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m wrong now either.” Chakotay countered. Then, with a shadow of a smile, added, “It’s not your fault that you’re convincing and articulate even when you’re being paranoid.”

Seven reflected his expression. “Forceful, you said.”

He gave a tiny chuckle, but he spoke seriously, “It’s also not your fault that your delusions played into our prejudices. That was nothing to do with you.”

Seven saw a bitter frustration settle on him like a shroud. She regarded him thoughtfully. “Unity is vital…” She began, ignoring the sharp look he gave her, “…but it is difficult to achieve among true individuals such as Voyager is proud to have. The Captain and yourself _have_ achieved it.”

Chakotay gave a rueful grimace. “More or less.” He ran a hand roughly over his face. “There have always been cracks. And this wasn’t even the widest lately.”

“As I said, maintaining unity is extremely challenging.” Seven replied evenly.

He could imagine Seven cataloguing recent events behind those clear blue eyes, able to remember hundreds of incidents, big and small, of discord. Or maybe he was projecting onto her. “Yeah.” He finally agreed, his voice low. “It’s pretty thankless.” He felt himself colour, unsure why he’d let that slip out.

Seven considered for a few seconds. “People do not thank you for what they do not notice.” She said eventually, “If the crew are insensible of your efforts, then you’re successful.” She watched his mouth twist as he considered her point, then his acknowledging nod. “I am truly sorry if my actions have affected those efforts. I hope that they did not put any undue strain on your relationship with Lieutenant Torres, as well as that with the Captain.” She regretted mentioning the Captain as his eyes opened wide again, but soon recognised that it was only with surprise.

“With Bee?” he asked, “No, B’Elanna’s practically my _hermana menor_. We’re good.” His brows creased quizzically, “You spoke to B’Elanna?”

“She was also owed an apology.” Seven maintained stoically, before her gaze turned inward again. Her teeth caught her lip once more. “Her response was…pacifying.”

Chakotay’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He’d been an unfortunate witness, or collateral damage, in many of B’Elanna and Seven’s interactions, and he wouldn’t describe any of them as ‘pacifying’. That was generally _his_ job. “Pacifying?” he echoed.

Seven’s answer was a definite nod, though the flicker of wryness, and lingering disbelief, on her face told him she’d been just as surprised. “Yes. She advised me that, given the circumstances, this incident was my…’get out of jail free card’ and that yesterday should be forgotten.” Seeing his confusion, she started a hasty explanation, “She said the term was in reference to a board…”

“A board game, yeah, I got it. Kind of.” Chakotay shook his head, “Whatever it was in reference to, she’s right. No apologies necessary.”

“I must look forward.”

“The Captain?” he guessed. She confirmed it with a nod. “Well, she’s right too, but I don’t expect you to totally forget a bad experience like that, it wouldn’t be human. What I mean is, give yourself some time to process, but don’t beat yourself up, okay?” Internally he sighed. Why could he always give out this advice, but never quite take it?

“I realise it is counterproductive.” Seven murmured ruefully. Her gaze was piercing, her head cocked as if to catch his transparency at just the right angle, but she said nothing more.

He ran a guarding hand over his face. “Seven, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“No.” Simple, no qualifiers, no caveats.

“Why now? Why did you install your…”

“Cortical processing sub-unit.”

“…your sub-unit, now? I’d have thought…” He hesitated, unsure if he wanted to take the leap down this rabbit hole, but she was waiting. “I’d have thought that if it was such a boon to your efficiency, you’d have added to your alcove within days of being freed, not two and a half years later?”

“The Captain would not have allowed me to absorb so much data at that time.” Seven reminded him in a clipped voice. For a moment, he thought that was all the answer he was going to get, though in the same instant he was sure he’d hit the heart of the issue. He felt her eyes roam over him for a few seconds before she gave a long exhale, decision made. “It wasn’t necessary then.” Her inhale was sharp, shaky. “I was confident in my own abilities.”

“And you’re not now?” Chakotay couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. He’d known that much of Seven’s cool arrogance was a shell, a defence mechanism, but it was strong enough on a daily basis that he forgot to look for cracks. In their set routine, he couldn’t tell when her demeanour was genuine. Work demanded a certain image, the Captain maintained hers, he had his, and Seven too. He wouldn’t deny he hadn’t drawn strength from her control at times.

A split second scowl blazed over her face before she burned out, her skin tinged ash grey as she glanced down. “Not to the benefit of Voyager.” She said, barely above a whisper. “In recent months…” She stopped for a breath, closing her eyes as she debated whether to continue. “The Equinox. I failed. I was used as a pawn against Voyager…my implants were turned against me…”

“You were taken hostage!” Chakotay broke in, his voice heated. “Ransom and Burke abused you…” A hiss of disgust escaped his clenched teeth, “… _dissected_ you…”

“That was the Doctor.” Seven corrected with a bite in her voice, though guilt instantly blotted out the resentment. “Against his will, at their order.”

“Did they…?” He swallowed, “Are you still…damaged from…?”

“No.” She assured him hastily, then blew out through her nose. “The Doctor was…painstaking in his repairs. My implants were fully restored.”

Chakotay’s fingers brushed her metal tipped ones on the desk. “But _you_ weren’t?”

A mute shake of the head. She stared down at the desk, glad its surface didn’t offer her an abject reflection. “Then…then the members of my Unimatrix sought me out, and not only could I not assist them, their situation was my…”

“So, you decided to boost your efficiency.” Chakotay concluded gently, “Work even harder.”

“It seemed to be the only solution…” She grimaced at her own word, what had happened couldn’t be solved, only lived with. “…available to me.” She glanced up, starting to pull her hand back. “It was…a fool’s errand. One which endangered Voyager.” She’d attempted to fill the growing holes inside her with data, and instead she’d ripped herself open. Perhaps it served her right, for trying to pull a veil over what she’d done with another Borg act. Of course it had backfired.

Looking at her haunted, lost face, Chakotay struggled with what to say. Seven never had a ‘minor’ work crisis for him to smooth over, or a sorrow as simple to empathise with as missing family. Her emotional landscape was a dark labyrinth, and one she so rarely let anyone have a glimpse of. “It wasn’t foolish…” He finally said, biting his lip as a sigh resonated through him. “…it was human nature.”

Seven’s brow quirked, the eye beneath sad and resigned as she shifted uncomfortably. “Humans do not use cortical processing sub-units.”

Chakotay didn’t let her dissuade him from his point. “No, but we will put sleeping off to work overtime…develop insomnia.” He ran a hand over his face, throat dry. “It’s not so different.”

“Perhaps not.” Seven conceded quietly. He offered her a smile, small and tired but genuine enough to draw her out. “But still, I regret my actions.”

“Well, that’s human, too. To regret. Let it bother you for a day or two, but don’t let it bog you down for too long.”

Seven’s eyes widened. “No. I wouldn’t be so vain as to…”

Chakotay frowned, unthinkingly moved to clasp her hand, giving it a squeeze. “It’s not vain to need time to get over something.”

He felt her shiver as she shook her head fiercely. “I was vain. Believing that the Captain was going to…”

His frown deepened. “To what?”

Seven blanched, panic flaring over her face, but shame forced her to answer. “When I was in the shuttle, I…I thought that she, Voyager, had been sent here…to hand me over to Starfleet.” She shuddered, shrinking in her chair. “To be dissected.”

“Just like the Equinox.” He murmured, a spasm of unequivocal hatred almost killing his voice. Kathryn’s vendetta had angered him, diminished his belief in her judgement to a point he still wasn’t sure it would wholly come back from, as shown in stark relief by their reaction to Seven’s conspiracies, but none of that meant he didn’t abhor the actions of that crew. He remembered Seven, empathy easing his wrath. “It makes sense that a big fear like that, a trauma, would come to the forefront of your paranoia…” Though she may not think of it this way, Seven had been dissected more than once. She’d told him herself that the Collective didn’t care if drones remembered their assimilation.

Seven’s nod was impatient. “Yes.” She agreed shortly, “But to believe, even while overloading, that Voyager’s mission was taking a single insignificant drone and delivering her to Starfleet…” She didn’t see the incredulity that statement deserved in his eyes, or judgement, and suddenly she was tempted to tell him what the Queen had said. What she’d left out of her report, the one thing she hadn’t confided to the Captain. That she’d been purposefully abandoned on Voyager, to further the assimilation of humanity. It couldn’t be true. The Hive mind was merely been taking advantage of the situation. But deception was foreign to the Collective…? She wasn’t part of it anymore, the Queen could lie to her. Then again, it was the kind of long term plan they’d used before to assimilate a strong race, one possible hook thrown out among many others to see what caught… Stop it. You’re not overloading now, don’t think of it anymore. The betrayal of it, the insidious relief of still being relevant… “It was not only vain, it was an insult to the Captain…” What had her mind been doing, relating the Captain to the Borg Queen?! “…to the crew, and Voyager’s true mission.”

“I’m sure the Captain wasn’t insulted, just worried for you.”

“I know.” Seven agreed thickly, “But…”

“But nothing.” He cut her off firmly, “It’s over Seven.” With one final squeeze of her hand, he released her and leaned back in his chair. “Look…” The fear in her eyes made him flinch guiltily, “We don’t know how Starfleet will react to the choices this crew has made, it may not be with medals and garlands…” He sighed bitterly, though a grim smile soon flitted across his face. “But I’ll be damned if I let them rip any of us to shreds, after all the work we’ve put into becoming a crew and getting home. Trust me.”

“I do.” Seven said simply, surprised herself at the honesty in it. She suspected, no, she knew, that he’d told the Maquis and himself this same thing multiple times, but that didn’t diminish its power. On the contrary.

Chakotay gave a real, heartfelt smile as she stood. “Good.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll see you in Astrometrics tomorrow then, for your report?”

Her responding smile was easy in her relief, grateful for the taste of normality. “Of course, Commander.”

On impulse he rose to escort her out of the door. “I’m glad to hear it, Crewman.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please review! :)


End file.
